I think, especially when you're in college, each book that you're reading tends to tell you who you are.

Jerome was sliding and climbing on top of me and it felt like it had the night before, like a crushing weight. So do boys and men announce their intentions. They cover you like a sarcophagus lid. And call it love.

Words, words, word. Once, I had the gift. I could make love out of words as a potter makes cups of clay. Love that overthrows empire. Love that binds two hearts together, come hellfire & brimstone. For sixpence a line, I could cause a riot in a nunnery. But now -- I have lost my gift. It's as if my quill is broken, as if the organ of my imagination has dried up, as if the proud -illegible word- of my genius has collapsed.

It took courage to let things fall apart so beautifully.

Capitalism has resulted in material well-being but spiritual bankruptcy.

She was a large, disordered woman, like a child's drawing that didn't stay within the lines.

All wisdom ends in paradox.